


between the raindrops

by themorninglark



Category: Free!
Genre: Future Fic, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Phone Call, University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 21:49:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5106923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themorninglark/pseuds/themorninglark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hard sometimes, across the ocean, to tell what the silences mean. Like looking down a very long kaleidoscope, Makoto has to squint, blink, exercise his not-inconsiderable imagination and all that he knows of <i>Matsuoka Rin</i>, his dream-kissed sojourner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	between the raindrops

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mosaicos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosaicos/gifts).



> This is for Kira, my almost birthday twin. Happy birthday ♥  
> Title (and general feel of the fic) from "Between the Raindrops" by Lifehouse.

"Caught you," says Rin.

Down the line, his voice is breathy, like he's just run a long way.

Makoto laughs. "I should be the one saying that. Isn't it _2 am_ over there, Rin?"

"It's midnight for you, I thought you might be sleeping - "

"When do I sleep before midnight?"

"Well," Rin mutters, "when I tell you to. I hope."

Makoto has the grace to sound sheepish, just a little, when he laughs again, and Rin pauses; in the sudden moment of quiet that falls between them, Makoto barely dares to breathe. When he does, it's quiet, almost inaudible.

He hears Rin doing the same, and feels his shoulders relax, just a tiny fraction of an inch. The night is cool, blowing autumn's fading whisper through his half-opened window.

He wonders if Rin feels the balmy warmth of springtime coming through his.

It's hard sometimes, across the ocean, to tell what the silences mean. Like looking down a very long kaleidoscope, Makoto has to squint, blink, exercise his not-inconsiderable imagination and all that he knows of _Matsuoka Rin_ , his dream-kissed sojourner.

He's brilliant through the glass and mirrors. A million colours tinged in gold and a flamelit afterglow, just beyond reach…

"What's up? Did you want to talk about something?" Makoto asks.

"Well, I promised to call you this week, didn't I?"

Rin sounds exasperated and affectionate all at once.

"Uh, Rin, it's Sunday night - "

"I know I'm two hours late, if we're counting it in my timezone, but let's pretend we're talking Japan time, mmkay?"

"That's not what I mean," Makoto says.

He sinks down into his chair, spins it round so he's staring at the far wall of his bedroom instead. It's blank, because this semester's been so busy he hasn't had a chance to put up any posters or photos; his box of mementos from home sits, unopened, in a corner.

In this age of _so near yet so far_ , he remembers Rin by a picture on the wallpaper of his phone, that precious conduit that connects the two of them. He carries no photographs in his wallet. Instead, he has -

The touch of Rin against his skin, warm and pale and burning like raindrops in summer.

"You should be sleeping. I know it's been a busy week for you."

As if on cue, he hears the sound of a yawn suddenly stifled; imagines Rin stretched out on his bed, limbs unravelled. He'll be flexing his feet, arms overhead, pressing the phone to his ear by the dim light of his bedside lamp. He'll have kicked off his covers so they're lying in a messy heap on the floor. Rin's always warm, even at night.

"Makoto," says Rin.

In Rin's voice, his name becomes _more_.

Something in between a hopeful prayer and a wild, passionate reaching, like Rin's chasing precious oxygen in his speeding, soaring flight to the top of the world, and Makoto feels his breath catch in his throat.

"We can talk tomorrow," he suggests. "I've got free time in the afternoon."

"Yeah, but that's _next_ week. _This_ week is ending. Today. And I promised."

"It doesn't matter - "

"No," Rin cuts him off, a familiar edge creeping into his tone. "It does. _You_ do."

Makoto, words on the tip of his tongue, swallows them.

The silence returns -

_(real, intimate - )_

In this space that they share, Makoto feels, sometimes, closer to Rin than ever before. He is enveloped by a sense that they are the last two people in the world. The hush that's fallen on Tokyo is mirrored on another continent, in a suburb of Sydney not far from the beach; Makoto hears it on the phone, the stillness punctuated by Rin's breaths.

Rin sighs. "It's just - ah, I don't know how to say it."

"I think I understand," says Makoto, softly.

"It's like, this is all we have, when we're doing this long-distance thing. Y'know? _This._ Our words to each other. And I know I can count on you to always keep yours. I _know_ you'll call, if you say you will. So - "

Makoto listens, face growing warmer by the second. Rin has a habit of doing this, of accidentally spilling the contents of his unguarded heart out to Makoto, and doing so without an iota of self-consciousness; he wears his emotions like a second skin, and in his touch, in the very sound of his voice, the pockets of his silences, he wraps himself around Makoto, a breathtaking zephyr.

"So you have to know you can count on me, too. To keep my promises."

Makoto's phone is heavy in one hand. The other one, empty, aches for the feel of Rin's twined in it. Rin's fingers, tracing deft patterns along the creases of his palm. 

"Promises, huh?" Makoto murmurs.

"Yeah," says Rin, quiet. "Whether it's about calling. Or - anything else."

Even without words, without the pixellated vision of a webcam, Makoto knows Rin is blushing too, and he feels his chest might burst with love.

They don't need to remind each other of other promises they've made. They'll wear them like tattoos, unseen and forever.

And for all that Rin's the diehard romantic and Makoto the boring, grounded one, for all that they make fun of each other in their wry, teasing ways, Makoto understands: this is how hearts come together. Not with some grand gesture or dull routine, but somewhere in the middle - somewhere where dreaming meets real life - somewhere they can find, only because it's _them_ …

Makoto feels the night breeze brush by his cheek, hears the rain start to fall. He remembers what it is like to be kissed.

He reaches up, pushes his fringe out of his eyes and takes off his glasses. The hour's getting late. In spite of Rin's protestations, he can hear the exhaustion in his voice when he speaks again; it's not easy, Makoto knows, juggling the final year of university with a swimming career that's suddenly taken off into the stratosphere, and he's dying to tell Rin to go to sleep.

Instead, he checks himself, listens to everything that Rin's _not_ saying.

"So," Rin asks. "How was your week?"

_It isn't just our words, Rin. We have more…_

And Makoto laughs gently, warmly, as the unspoken _I love you_ pours forth from miles away.

"It's perfect, now," he says, hoping that Rin's listening too.

 


End file.
